


Silent Prayers; Unspoken Longings

by gldenheart



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, Eponine Thenardier (Mentioned) - Freeform, Eventual Enjolras/Grantaire, M/M, Marius Pontmercy (Mentioned) - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gldenheart/pseuds/gldenheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Canon Era Enjoltaire ficlett summarizing Enjolras and Grantaire's final thoughts and desires leading up to the inevitable Fall of the Barricade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Prayers; Unspoken Longings

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ao3 fanfiction so feedback is much appreciated! Hope you enjoy!

_Please don’t leave,_ Enjolras pleads silently as the drunken boy staggers out of the café, the memory of his blood-shot, broken gaze haunting him as shame grips his heart, forbidding him from following. His friends are cheering, waving flags and banners as joyous cries fill the streets. But to their Leader, their excitement is hollow, their victorious celebration is suddenly empty, meaningless. A darkened void he can only blame on Grantaire’s absence.

 _I don’t want to be alone,_ Grantaire thinks miserably as he wanders into the gloom, Apollo’s chilling rebuke still ringing in his ears. He longs to turn back, to join the cause doomed to failure, to pledge his life to the man whose very existence fuels his own. He craves Enjolras’ acceptance with his entire being, with every fiber of his soul, he needs it more than he would ever dare to admit. But he’s always been a coward, a bitter, lonely coward. And he always will be …

  


_Please don’t leave,_ Enjolras wills with all his might as he loses sight of the Skeptic, the one who’s never believed in anything, least of all him, in the midst of this hellish chaos. Shots ring out, furniture falls from the skies, his comrades shout and scramble amidst it all, rushing to prepare for the battle to come. He is not alone and yet he feels as though he might as well be without Grantaire by his side.

 _I don’t want to be alone,_ Grantaire groans inwardly as his shaking hands add another chair to the growing barricade, keeping a certain scarlett coat within his gaze at all times. If he’s smart, he should leave now before the fighting starts, before the inevitable bloodbath commences. _But you’ve always been foolish, lovesick arse, haven’t you, R?_ he sneers bitterly to himself as he downs another bottle, hoping to numb whatever wasteful, pointless longings he has left …

  


_Please don’t leave,_ Enjolras silently begs with pathetic selfishness, as the gamin girl, the first of many to fall, breathes her last in the Pontmercy boy’s embrace. The others are watching the tragedy enfold silently, some with solemn stares, others with tears. But he only has eyes for Grantaire. Grantaire, who watches as well; smoldering fury causing the grip on his third wine bottle to turn his knuckles stark white. His face is horribly blank, hollow yet also frighteningly fierce, his emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears, his rigid jaw clenched tight.  Their eyes meet against his will and without warning.  Enjolras’ stomach clenches at the accusing rage, even hate, in the other boy’s glare.  _You did this,_ his eyes seem to scream at him. _You and your damned revolution._ More than ever, every instinct the Chief possesses entreats him to say something, anything. But he doesn’t, he can’t. Shame instead forces him to turn away, offer a few weak condolences to the distraught Marius. And all the same, the only words in his head are not for the boy before him but the one shattering his empty bottle on the ground as he stalks away to find another; _Forgive me. Please don’t leave … please … I can’t do this without you._

 _I don’t want to be alone,_ Grantaire murmurs hoarsely to himself, finally letting the hot tears flow free as he slouches in his darkened, desolate corner of the café, far from the rest. He wants to take back the mockery he had rashly thrown in his friends’ faces when he drunkenly interrupted their songs of comfort and encouragement. He hates the sudden distress and foreboding that had flooded in their eyes, the dread his scorn had invited into their beautifully, foolishly optimistic souls.  He hates the stricken, tormented look of hurt that had flashed across Enjolras’ cerulean marble stare, the shame and doubt that he had forced into those starry irises.  Most of all, he hates himself, so much so that the feeling is practically tangible.  His words are venomous, a maliciously brutal poison; their only use is to bring nothing but destruction and pain. His innermost heart yearns to take them back, to fall on his knees and beg forgiveness. But he doesn’t, he can’t. Pride and fear close his throat and seal his mouth into a tightened, bitter line; cloaking the desires he hides away deep inside himself.  And yet in spite of himself, he prays desperately, his eyes never leaving Enjolras’ shadowed form atop the barricade; _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Don’t hate me, please. I can’t … I don’t want to be alone …_

  


_Leave, please,_ Enjolras thinks desperately, wanting to cry out as frustration and fear seize his heart. If only he could warn him directly. He lost him again, in the midst of their final stand. The barricade has fallen. His friends, his dear brothers, lie scattered and bloodied at his feet, never to rise again. He and Grantaire are the last remnant left alive, as far as he knows. _Please,_ he prays as the National Guard burst into the upper chamber where he awaits his fate, a dozen or more rifles aimed at his chest. _Please, I beg you, cher cœur. If you still live, leave me. Save yourself. If not for your own sake, then for mine. That’s all I ask. Just … leave, please._

 _I don’t want you to be alone,_ Grantaire decides and there is no more second guessing, no question in his solemn resolve. Life without his counterpart, without the other half of his soul, is no life at all. That he knows, without a single doubt in his being. _I would have followed you anywhere, bien-aimé,_ he thinks, a strangely blissful smile gracing his features as he mounts the stairs and begins to climb. _I would have followed you into light or shadow, even to the the ends of the earth. It is only fitting since I followed you in life that I follow you in death as well …_

  


_**I won’t leave you,**_ Grantaire’s eyes vow, so lovingly tender they move the Savage Antinous to tears, as he pushes his way to the window, planting himself steadfastly at Enjolras’ side, never to part again. 

_**You’re not alone,**_ Enjolras’ smile swears, blinding as the sun itself, as he takes the other boy’s rough hand in his for the first and last time; his moist eyes never leaving Grantaire’s adoring gaze, even as the shots ring out and their world shatters in a thunderclap. _**You never were-**_


End file.
